To All the Hands I've Stained Red
by Professor R.J Lupin1
Summary: In an arena full of predators, who will become the prey? Closed.
1. Prologue - Capitol Life is So Hard

**A/N: Okay, okay, so I shouldn't be starting another SYOT. I know I did this with Yardsticks and the Youngest Among Us, but I swear I am not abandoning the Youngest Among Us! Honestly I'm too invested with my characters to do that. What can I say, I love my little twelve-year-old babies who almost all of will die soon?**

**Anyway, I decided to write a little prologue because why not? Other victors are interesting, right? At least probably more interesting than the Head Gamemaker talking about the Quell twist with the president. (also I don't know who the current President is or the Head Gamemaker, so we're going with this.)**

**I'm being purposefully vague about the last Quarter Quell in this prologue. Don't want to give out any spoilers. **

**Also, I'm probably not going to do the Reapings for a while. I want to get at least done with the Youngest Among Us reapings before I get into that. More info at the end of the chapter. **

Legacy Albuquerque, Capitol Citizen

"I really can't wait to see what the Quell twist is this year," I say into the phone. "They're always so unique—it feels like an honor to be alive, in the prime of my life, during a Quarter Quell."

"Totally," my sister, Novelty, agrees. "What do you think it will be?"

"I don't know," I reply honestly. "I don't know if anything can top the last Quarter Quell. I thought twelve-year-olds would be boring, but they really followed through."

If I could see Novelty, I'm sure she would be nodding her perfect blonde head.

On the other end of the line, I can hear Novelty's young daughter, Livia, asking her mother for something. "Just a second, Livi, I'm on the phone with your aunt."

I titter quietly, wishing for possibly the thousandth time that I had kids. I've wanted them for years, ever since I was a little girl, but I've never found the right man. Novelty, on the other hand, tied the knot with her husband ten years ago. Livia was born a year later, then came Cantilena, and then Alistair. Novelty's obsession with having kids used to make me jealous—now, I spend so much time around her children that it feels almost like they're mine, too.

"I'm hoping for something different," Novelty says, shushing her daughter. "Something no one would ever expect. I'm friends with the Head Gamemaker, you know, but he hasn't said a word. It's infuriating!" She pauses. "What's the point of having friends in high places if I don't benefit from it?"

I roll my eyes. "Callum is probably under an oath to not tell until the Twist announcement. Speaking of which—it will be on any second. I better go."

"Alright. Bye, Legacy." Novelty hangs up, no doubt going to round her kids for the quell announcement. I sigh, slipping my phone into the pocket of my dress and heading for the couch.

My apartment is nothing special, not by Capitol standards anyway. There are some nice floor-to-ceiling windows, though, which let plenty of light into my living room.

I settle on the couch with a martini, sipping my drink as I wait for the T.V. to turn on. Novelty actually got tickets to go see the announcement in person. She, of course, didn't invite me to come along. Oh, well, I'll just have to show her I can go have fun without her and her stupid husband. Besides, that party tonight I'm going to… I know of a few attractive, single men going there, so maybe tonight won't be so bad.

Parties are big in the Capitol around Hunger Games time, and the Quarter Quell is even better. I was barely four when the 150th Games happened, so I didn't exactly go to a whole lot of parties. But I am determined to milk this Quell for everything it is worth. I am going to party so hard, try to get a boyfriend, probably end up dumping that boyfriend, and get another one. It's going to be epic.

Novelty says I'm being childish and immature. She says I'm too old to being going through boyfriends so quickly, while she already has settled down and had a whole crop of children. Well, I'm twenty-nine, I can do whatever I want. Besides, who's going to stop me?

The T.V. clicks on, the face of President Renius appearing on the screen, in all his sandy-blonde glory. I don't think there is a single woman (probably some men, too) who hasn't looked at President Ezra Renius and wished they were together. What can I say? He's quite the looker.

He steps up the podium, and the cheering of the Capitol, my sister and her perfect little family somewhere in the crowd, goes silent. He clears his throat. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they chose to initiate violence, each District had to hold an election to see which tribute would enter the arena. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen killed, the Districts had to reap twice as many tributes. On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they brought this upon themselves, every tribute had to be a volunteer.

"On the one-hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the wealthiest were not exempt from violence, the tributes will only be Reaped from children who have never taken tesserae. On the one-hundredth and twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the fight left many children parent-less, all the Reaped children will be orphans.

"On the one-hundredth and fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the youngest among us were killed in the dark days, all tributes in the arena will be twelve-years-olds."

President Renius takes a small white card, handed to him by a young boy, also dressed in white, and opens it ceremoniously.

"On the one-hundredth and seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the most vile people were involved in the fighting, all tributes in the arena will be convicted murderers."

**Basically, the Quell twist is that only convicted murderers can be Reaped. (you probably got that, but just making sure.) You might be asking 'but what if all the convicted murderers got the death sentence for killing?' Well, in this Panem, I guess there isn't a death sentence. They probably just get life long prison sentences. **

**Also: the tributes can be any age between 12 and 42. I don't imagine there will be too many twelve-year-old murderers, but I figured I'd leave it open. **

**I'm not doing Reapings. Instead, hence the title, the Reapings will be replaced with a 'letter' the murderer has 'written' to the person(s) they've murdered. It will hopefully make the Reapings go a lot faster. They won't be done in District order. I made that mistake with the Youngest Among Us, so that's going out the window now. (please note: the tributes didn't actually write these letters. I'm just using it as a way to speed the reapings along)**

**You can submit through review! I'm looking at you, Anna. ;)**

**THERE ARE NO RESERVATIONS. With the Youngest Among Us, I've had trouble getting reservations in , so I'm just not going to do them this time around. **

**You can submit four tributes! And please, please, please, make some bloodbaths. If I don't have enough bloodbath tributes, I'm going to just have to start killing some. I don't want to do that, you don't want to read that, it will just make it easier for everyone.**

**And: there are no volunteers! It is Reaped tributes only! **

**Here's the form: (it's also on my profile) **

**Name:**

**Age: (12-42)**

**District: **

**Appearance: (you can give a faceclaim or just an appearance, it doesn't matter to me)**

**Personality:**

**Backstory:**

**Family:**

**Friends:**

**Strengths: **

**Weaknesses:**

**Reaction to Being Reaped:**

**Token:**

**Allies?**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Interview Angle:**

**Training Score:**

**Bloodbath Strategy:**

**Games Strategy:**

**Preferred Death:**

**Preferred Placement: (please note: this is pretty much a guideline to me. If you say 1****st****, the character obviously shouldn't get 1****st****, then they won't. It's up to me to decide who should get first and who shouldn't)**

**OPTIONAL STUFF:**

**Chariot Outfit:**

**Interview Outfit:**

**Theme Song: **

**STUFF PRETAINING TO THE TWIST:**

**Who have they murdered: (they may not know the names of their victim(s). That's okay)**

**How many have they murdered:**

**How do they feel about it:**

**Will they kill again?**

**How long ago did they kill:**

**Was there a reason for them to kill?**

**Anything else:**

**I know it's pretty long, but please do be detailed! If there's something missing, I will end up making it up, and I don't want to have to do that. **

**There will probably be a few more prologues with good ol' Legacy and Novelty. The Reapings will most likely start once the games actually begin the Youngest Among Us, but I might start them earlier. We'll see. **

**Please do consider submitting!**


	2. District 6 - Small Price to Pay

**A/N: Are you proud of me? I didn't abandon it! Yay! **

**Anyway, this is District 6's letter. Piper-Robyn and Jasper are courtesy of ****HunterOfArtemisII.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2 – A Small Price to Pay**

_Piper-Robyn Azul, 14, District 6_

_Dear Alaina Azul, Ekho Azul, and Emerald Azul,_

If you want me to apologize, you've got another thing coming. Look, _you_ kicked me out, okay? It's not my fault. You got what you deserved, and Jasper will always agree.

I mean, it was all your fault anyway. When you kicked me to the streets, I met Jasper. You practically signed your own death warrants, okay? It's not my fault. You brought this upon yourselves.

I didn't ask to be your child. I didn't ask for you to hate me. I tried to be good. I tried to be better. I really did. But did any of you care? No, of course you didn't. I was always lesser. I was always the unwanted one. You would have been perfectly happy if I never existed and all you got was Emerald, wouldn't you? I could have turned into an ax murderer, and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash. Which is ironic, since I did.

It wasn't even my idea. Jasper was the one who actually stabbed Emerald. I just finished the job. All I did was end it. Jasper probably would have dragged it out. You know how loyal he is, and how much he hated you guys. I did you a favor. You owe me.

Well, I suppose you can't owe me, since you're dead, but… I saved you a lot of suffering. At least, that's what Jasper has told me. And Jasper doesn't lie. He's not any of you. He's the only thing that makes my life worth living, in this hellhole of a prison.

I know people shun us, outside of the prison. Eleven-year-old murderers? And it's not even like we were fighting for our lives, like the last Quarter Quell. But I saved myself, whether I was in the Games or not. My life, whether I'm in prison or not, is worlds better than it was when I lived with any of you. Like I said, when you were dying, when I was convicted, and a million times in prison, you brought this upon yourselves. This isn't my fault. This isn't Jasper's fault. If you hadn't kicked me to the street, all those years in ago, in the hopes that I would walk off a cliff or something, you would still be alive. I never would have met Jasper, and we never would have gotten the idea to kill you.

So there. It's your fault. I proved that it's your fault. All Jasper and I did was save ourselves. You signed your own death warrants.

_From Piper-Robyn Azul_

_Jasper Callaghan, 15, District 6 _

_Dear Alaina Azul, Ekho Azul, and Emerald Azul_

I've asked Piper this every day we've been in prison. Why? Why did you hate her so much? What did she ever do to you? She's your daughter, for god's sake! She shouldn't hate you so much that she is able to kill you without feeling guilt. I never thought I could hate someone so much that I could end their life and never feel a thing, until, of course, I met you.

Piper was three. Goddamn. Years. Old. How many three-year-olds can survive on the streets alone? Oh, that's right. None. That's why you kicked her out. So she could die, alone, as a toddler. If I hadn't found her, you would have gotten your way. Would Emerald be the one writing this letter? Would you have been convicted of murdering Piper? It certainly seems likely to me.

I may make Piper's life worth living, but she makes mine tolerable as well. I've been alone for my whole life. Piper and I are similar like that. We both have no family. We both have never been important to anyone.

Besides, you hated me, anyway. You hated both of us. We were—and still are—just kids. We should have never been driven to the point that we could murder you and feel just fine. You neglected your daughter to the point that she could kill you, and her own twin sister, and walk away without shedding a tear.

It would feel like blood on my hands, I would be guilty, if it was anyone else but you. You should be glad that Piper got ahold of you before I did, Emerald, because I know seventeen different places to stab someone that aren't immediately fatal but hurt like hell. You'd have bled to death over the course of thirty hours or so if Piper hadn't slit your throat.

Alaina and Ekho, why didn't you sound scared? When we came into your room with switchblades, you _laughed_. Did you think we wouldn't do it? Did you think we were trying to scare you? Well, just look at where that landed you. Dead in the ground. You could argue that it landed us in prison, but that's a small price to pay for the end of Piper's abuse.

Will there be a time when I stop hating you? No, of course not, I'll hate you until the day I die, and long after that. You tried to take everything from Piper, so we took everything from you.

_From Jasper Callaghan_

**A/N: So that's the first 'Reaping'. They're not going to be very long, because there's not much to say in letters, but I hope I can get the general point of each tribute across. When I get to the train rides and all that stuff, we'll get to know the tributes' personalities a bit better, instead of just the backstory/why they're in the Games. What do you think of Piper-Robyn and Jasper? Are they justified in killing Piper's family? Do you think either will win? Reviews are always appreciated. **

**And remember that the tributes didn't actually write these letters. It's a sort of metaphorical thing. It's just a way to introduce the characters without having to write reapings, which drags on and on and on. Reapings get so boring. **

**One more question: I'm thinking about starting a normal SYOT for the 151****st**** Games. Would anyone be interested in that? Should I focus on To All the Hands I've Stained Red? I'll admit, I've been kind of lacking motivation for this story right now. I might put a poll on my profile about it. **

**The next letters will be District 4. I'm not sure when they'll be out, hopefully sometime soon, but we'll have to wait and see. **

**Until next time,**

**-Amanda**


	3. District 4 - Justice Was Served

**A/N: I said this would be out by the of end April. I lied. **

**And oh my god did I use a lot of italics in Undine's POV. Oops.**

**Anywho, enjoy. **

**TW FOR RAPE IN UNDINE'S POV.**

**Chapter 3 – Justice Was Served**

_Undine Riverhood, 25, District 4_

_To the Eleven Rapists That Didn't Deserve To Keep Living,_

You hurt my friends, my family, and I hurt you. It doesn't matter to me who you are—were. You're dead, and that's all that matters. You hurt my family. You hurt my friend.

I don't understand why I'm in prison for doing what's right. Who cares if I killed any of you? You signed your own death warrants when you hurt Laguna, when you hurt Judith, when you hurt any of those girls—those goddamn _children_—when you ruined them, ruined their innocence.

The Peacekeeper who should be among you—that's different. It's your _fucking job_ to protect us, from each other, from the rest of the world. We shouldn't be worried about protecting ourselves from you. That girl, that _small child_, was someone you were supposed to _protect_. You're a _Peacekeeper_, for God's sake. You keep us safe. You don't sexually harass us, you don't try to rape us or molest us, you don't hurt us. Peacekeepers aren't the nicest people—every single goddamn person who lives in Panem knows that. But you leave us alone unless we break the law.

And in my opinion (which is the right opinion, thank you) I didn't do anything wrong. All I did was clean the trash from this district, and if those jackasses in charge didn't throw me in jail for the rest of time, all the others who hurt and continue to hurt young girls like Judith and Laguna.

Well, I'm going into the Games now. Twenty-three people to kill, and for once, it doesn't matter what they did. They're my targets now, and there's nothing any of them can do. They'll never see me coming. And by the time they do, they'll already be dead.

_From Undine Riverhood_

_Keiron Todd, 27, District 4 _

_Dear Caspian Rivera,_

It was a mistake. It was just a mistake. I didn't mean to. I really didn't. I'm sorry, okay? It's not your brother came back anyway… and crying in alleyways is a bad idea, anyway. I know your brother was Reaped. I don't want to admit that I hoped he wouldn't come home. I couldn't explain it to him. And I knew I would have to.

I'm not a coward. Don't call me one.

I just… I thought you were something else. A raccoon, maybe. Something digging through the trash. Something I… something I shouldn't have shot at. I won't admit that I was scared. I won't admit that I thought you were something that was about to attack us. I won't admit that it was a reflex to shoot. I won't admit that the gun had been given to me by Peran. I won't admit that I took the gun willingly, hoping that it wasn't loaded and if it was, I'd never have to shoot it.

It's funny, isn't it? How a few seconds, the click of a gun, two words on a slip of paper, can change—and end—someone's life forever. And it hurts to know that I ended a life—the life of a young boy, a life that had hardly even begun. A life that didn't need to end.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe, just maybe, you were _okay_ with dying. You had to know that your brother would die, right? You had to know that your family would fall apart without him—at least, that's what I heard. You _had_ to know, right? You can't be mad… you can't be resentful… you can't hate me…?

Well, I guess you can't. After all, you're dead.

_From Keiron Todd _

**A/N: Only ten more to go. No idea when the next chapter will be out. It will probably be District 3? Or it might be District 5. It might be District 1. Honestly it could be any of them. Except District 9. I still need a male for that. **

**What do you think of Undine? Of Keiron? Who's your favorite? Who do you think will last longer? **

**-Amanda**


	4. District 7 - You Ruin Everything

**A/N: Yeet yeet I've returned. Thanks to Lilah32 for Jakob and TeamShadow for TeamShadow for Alyssa!**

**Enjoy?**

**TW FOR RAPE IN ALYSSA'S POV.**

**Chapter 4 – You Ruin Everything**

_Alyssa Hawkins, 22, District 7 _

_Dear Ron Jones, _

Look. I didn't want to hurt you. It was Madelyn, all Madelyn. Of course, you hurt me first. You ruined me, ruined my innocence, ruined my life. I knew my life would never be normal, not with Madelyn looming over my mind like a ghost, always waiting in the shadows for the right moment to strike. It's hard to hold her off—she wants control, and the night I found you, Madelyn forced my hand. I should have control, but Madelyn doesn't care.

I remember that night vividly—I was distracted. Madelyn was particularly vocal. She never really shuts up, but that night… that night she wanted control.

But then _you_ came out of the shadows of that alleyway, and I knew you were drunk and looking for a woman to—to—to—_rape_. I was right there, too distracted to notice until it was too late. And now, this is where that led you.

I'm not going to say I'm sorry. I'm not going to grovel at your knees and beg for forgiveness. I'm not going to apologize. You ruined me, you ruined yourself, you _ruined everything_.

I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted to leave you alone and leave you in the past, but Madelyn doesn't like to listen to what I say. It doesn't matter to her if I want to do something or not. After all, it's only my body, my future, my life that she ruins. But of course, you ruined it, too.

Oh, Alyssa was writing horrendously. I would cross it out, I would ruin all her hard work, but it's not worth it. Anyways, I'm Madelyn, your _real_ murderer. After all, the best way to stop someone is to kill them. I wasn't about to let you hurt anyone else. As soon as I get out of this hellhole, I'll be taking down more people like you, and Alyssa won't be able to do anything about it.

_From Alyssa Hawkins_

_Jakob Myre, 19, District 7 _

_To the bitch that murdered my sister,_

Robin was just trying to help. That man had been trapped, and you weren't going to do anything about it. Until, of course, you killed her in cold blood.

She didn't do anything wrong. You had no right to kill her—no right at all. No reason, no right, no nothing. You killed her because she wasn't listening. You left me no choice. You hurt her, killed her, and you deserved to die too. I was just returning the favor. Besides, it's not like anyone misses you now that you're gone. You were just another face behind a mask, a nameless figure we all hated, a pariah who aided the Capitol in oppressing us.

It's _all your fault_. Robin was just trying to help that man, being crushed beneath that tree, because you weren't going to do anything about it. Besides, I had the ax, you had the gun, you shot her, I killed you. You signed your own death warrant when you shot that gun. As soon as that bullet entered Robin's brain, you were as. Good. Dead.

I never even got to attend her funeral. I don't even know if she had one. Our parents would never allow that, would never, ever let Robin go un-memorialized but… I'm she's considered as much of a criminal as I am. The Capitol doesn't like it when criminals are remembered fondly, and I'm sure when I eventually kick the bucket, they probably won't even bury me. They'll burn my corpse and sing a song over my ashes. That's how the Capitol works. Who cares if those criminals were people? They're dead, nobody cares about dead people! You know, except their family, but since when do they matter? Oh, that's right, they don't. As long as they continue to reach their quotas, no one cares about. We're just puppets to the Capitol, and if we die, who cares? We're criminals. We _deserve_ death, of course.

Fuck the Capitol.

_From Jakob Myre_

**A/N: I really didn't do a whole lot of research on split personality disorder, so I hope Alyssa/Madelyn turned out okay and didn't suck. Anyways, what do you think of Alyssa? Of Jakob? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer?**

**Also, I decided that I'm going to add a random question at the end of these chapters! You don't need to answer it if you don't want to, but I figure it might be fun. **

**Here's the first one: what's your favorite movie? Mine is either Avengers: Endgame (although it makes me cry), Spiderman: Homecoming, or Doctor Strange. As you can see, I love Marvel movies. **

**-Amanda**


	5. District 10 - Suffer In Silence

**A/N: Hello, been a hot second since I last updated. I shouldn't go this long between updates for this since I have my whole list full, but I've been busy with the end of school. I've got one more week left, though, so updates will be quicker after the 31****st****. In other news, I think I failed my math final, so that's fun. **

**Anyway, here's District 10. **

**Chapter 5 – Suffer In Silence**

_Jennifer Sheppard, 27, District 10_

_To Anastasia Belle, Anders Lister, two rich upperclassmen, the old woman who shouldn't have asked for help across the road, and my very first target, _

It felt so, so good. I was amazed, actually—the doctors say I have no feelings. No emotions. I just exist in an empty black void, floating through the darkness as I stumble my way through life without a clue what I'm doing, because I have no emotions to express myself with. Well, that day, that very first day, when I found that little girl in the barn house, I felt something. I really, truly felt something. I felt something else, as well—I believe it's called happiness.

Also, to Anastasia and Anders, it's your fault anyway. I'm pretty sure you were warned against dating me, at least you were, Anastasia, since Anders was already gone. Everyone knew what I'd done—but I suppose everyone was too scared to speak of it. Is that it? Were they all _scared_? It must be nice, being able to truly feel fear.

When I was young, as I was diagnosed, my father was just as emotionless as always. I never thought these sorts of disorders were genetic, but… crazier things have happened. At least, I think they have. He told me to make up emotions. If I can't really be happy, pretend that I am. If I can't really feel fear, come up with something to be afraid of. I don't think it was very good advice to give to a sociopathic five year old, but my father's style of parenting is less than perfect.

I've lived my whole life like this. The only pleasure I really, truly get is when others are in pain. I can't get invested in my love life. Anastasia and Anders are perfect examples of that. I feel nothing, therefore I am nothing. I have to make people remember the strange, emotionless girl they met in the market that one time. What better way to do it than to be hated?

Once, someone asked me why I chose these people as my victims. Two old, rich men, an old lady, a thirteen-year-old girl—why did I kill and torture and maim these people I previously had no affiliation to?

Well, I have a very good answer for you. They were simply there when I needed them. When I wanted to feel those emotions that only blood will trigger. Because trust me, I have tried to find pleasure in other things. But, I suppose I'm just meant to rot away in prison, haunting the corridors like a cold, unfeeling ghost. Such is the nature of life.

_Fielder Cadeem, 21, District 10_

_Dear the elderly couple, three Peacekeepers, and two children, _

I don't know why I did it. Please don't ask.

I had a life. I had everything perfectly ironed out, just the way I like it. Miriam and I were perfectly happy together. We were even expecting a daughter! But, like so many times before, I snapped. A side of me I don't want anyone to see came out, and like a beast let out of its cage, I pounced.

The first time I killed, I was but a child. Barely thirteen years old, not even considered a true teenager. This uncontrollable urge to kill washed over me as I left my second reaping, the day my best friend, Ayla, got reaped. Seeing nothing but red, I had split off a side street and found an elderly couple out for a walk. I spun a web a lies so they would take me home, and from there, I killed them.

When I woke from this strange stupor, I was horrified. Sickened. I staggered home, trying to forget everything. When I returned home, and my parents saw that I was covered in blood, once more I added to my growing pile of guilt. I told them a rabid animal—perhaps a goat, hell, I could have said a wolf for all I remember—had jumped out and attacked me, leaving me no choice but to kill it.

The next time I made a kill, I was much cleaner. It was barely two weeks later, when a Peacekeeper came to my house to question about the elderly couple. No one was home. There were no witnesses. Once more, my wild inner demons jumped out and grabbed ahold of my mind, and I killed the Peacekeeper in cold blood.

I washed everything off. I took the body out, stripped it of its clothes and threw it into the already filthy river.

I thought it was over. I had traumatized my young mind, but I was intent on still living. I couldn't tell anyone, couldn't go to the doctor, I couldn't do anything but suffer in silence.

Years past. I met Miriam. We were so, so happy together. But I had left a trail of blood behind me, bodies crawling in my wake, slowly eating away at my already-tattered psyche. It was only a matter of time before I snapped again.

Those two young children, both no older than ten, were playing in the fields. There was no one around. It was months ago now, maybe even years, but they still look for them. Even though I was convicted for the murders of the others, they never knew I took the lives of those two children. My daughter grows up outside the walls of this prison, hopefully never to know of the horrors her father has committed. Matilda is safer without me around. Miriam, the woman I loved, will never be hurt by me.

And so I suffer in silence, drowning in my own guilt.

**A/N: What do you think of Jennifer? Of Fielder? We've got an interesting crew here in District 10. Drowning-in-guilt Fielder and sociopathic Jennifer. These letters were a bit longer than the others, and I hoping they keep getting longer. **

**Random Question of the Chapter: Is cereal a soup? Explain. **

**My answer: cereal is a soup. Soup doesn't have to be warm. I mean, as long as you put milk in it, cereal is a soup. Milk-less, well… no. **

**-Amanda **


	6. District 3 - They Are The Crazy Ones

**A/N: We're almost halfway through the Reapings. I might be able to have them all out in, like, two weeks? Summer is coming up, which means I'll have more time to write, so it's entirely possible. **

**Thanks to AlexFalTon for Aelita and LazyBoy15 for Johann!**

**District 3 is up!**

**Chapter 6 – They Are the Crazy Ones**

_Aelita Bellos, 24, District 3_

_To Charlie Wickins, _

I'm not looking to get wrapped up in politics. I wasn't a year ago, either. I just wanted for my husband and I to be happy. I could've cared less if he became the mayor. I wanted to settle down and start a family. But, when do I get what I want? Ah, that's right. Never.

Geo and I were perfectly happy. We were going to have a child. He was on course to achieve what he had always wanted—to become the mayor of 3 and do true good for this world. But where did that land him? With a bullet in his head and a pregnant, grieving widow full of hatred and malice.

I'm not trying to say it was Geo's fault. It was _your_ fault. You brought this upon yourself. Well, are you happy? Did you get what you wanted? No, you got poisoned and thrown down the stairs to your long, painful demise. Exactly what a man like you deserved.

I would have gotten away with it, too—after all, who would suspect the timid pregnant woman be the murderer of the political candidate? But I, unlike the other suspects, had a motive, and that was what condemned me. The Peacekeepers knew my face, knew my name, knew the pregnant widower

There was a stillborn baby. The doctors told me stress and grief was what killed it—no, her. It was a girl. I was going to name her Gea, after her father, but seeing as I was in prison for life, where would she have gone? Maybe she was better off dead. Maybe she was better off never knowing of the pain this world contains. Maybe she was better off dead before she ever lived.

Still, Gea would have been the last piece of my husband, of the man I loved, and she too was ripped away from me.

I'll repeat this until the day I die. I will hammer it into your obnoxiously-thick skull. Maybe I'll even have it put on my gravestone. Even though you're deader than a doornail, I will never let you forget this.

It. Is. All. Your. Fault.

Everything would have been perfect. I had a husband I loved, a daughter on the way, and everything had fallen into place. I still remember discussing baby names, wondering if it was going to be a boy or girl. I still remember just how happy we both were. But then, like always, something—or, in this case, someone—swooped in to mess it all up.

Well, I hope you're pleased. I hope you enjoyed your time at the bottom of the stairs, choking on your own saliva as my poison raced through your veins as you bled out from the head. Nothing less for the future mayor of District 3.

_Johann Chopin, 31, District 3_

_To Alexas Chilton, _

The Voices are always so loud. Whenever I talk about them, my therapist assumes I named them—but no, they're real people, I know they're real, if they weren't real, how could they talk to me? They told me their names a long time ago, when they first started talking to me. Because of the Voices, I am never alone, never alone with my tormented thoughts. They keep me company, and I in turn listen to their lamentations. It's a good dynamic.

The therapists say the Voices aren't real, that they're just a figment of my imagination. But if they weren't real, how could Lucius and Stephan known you were plotting to murder me? Lucius is a smart, intuitive man—he's never wrong, at least not when it comes to things like this. And no matter how bad Stephan is, I trust him. They're there to protect me. They care about me. They're my friends, and no one believes they exist.

I'm not the crazy one. Everyone else refuses to believe that my friends are real, and that means they're the crazy ones. They're not real, anyway—only me and the Voices actually exist and think and live. You were just as crazy as anyone else.

My therapists is a strange man—he doesn't see the Voices, even if they address them or sit beside him or anything. He just ignores them. Lucius thinks he's quite rude, and I'm inclined to agree.

My only question is: why were you going to murder me? All the Voices agreed that's what you were going to do, but Stephan poised the idea and I couldn't deny it was something you'd do. What choice did I have? I had to stick up for my own skin.

Celia, though, Celia's nice. Celia is so sweet. If I didn't live in this asylum, I think I would have proposed to her long ago. I remember when she first spoke to me—she was the second voice, and first nice one. She started talking to me when I was nine, a few months after I really noticed Lucius. There had been voices before, but they came and went without leaving a lasting impression, constantly flipping through new personalities and faces and names. They had been there since I was around five, but they became people when I was around eight.

Millie is really young, and she isn't very talkative. She does sing a lot—her voice is very pretty. You probably would like it. It's very light and airy, and it carries very nicely. Millie could be Celia and I's daughter if I was let out of this asylum.

Stephan is the true reason that I knew of your plans. He has this maniacal laugh that I hear a lot when I'm trying to sleep. He was laughing that day he told me of your plans, Alexas—and I always trust the word of the Voices. They've never been wrong before. But Stephan is scary. No matter how much I trust his word, he's dangerous, and his cackling laugh terrifies me.

The other Voices are my friends, but Stephan is my tormentor. But still, he saved my life, saved me from you, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

**A/N: What do you think of Aelita? Of Johann? Which do you prefer? Which one do you think will last longer? I really enjoyed writing this chapter—both Aelita and Johann are just easy to write. **

**Also, to anyone interested, a couple of spots have reopened for DAH. I don't know if anybody here cares, but I just thought I'd mention it. **

**Random Question #3: Do you put milk or cereal in first? **

**My answer (and the only right answer): cereal. I will argue this until the day I die. **

**-Amanda**


	7. District 11 - Ghost Stories

**A/N: School ended yesterday! It starts up again on August 22****nd****, which is way earlier then we usually start. Oh well. That's like three months away. **

**Yay! We're halfway through the Reapings!**

**Chapter 7 – Ghost Stories**

_Delilah Corlyn, 19, District 11_

_Dear the Fifteen People I was Paid To Kill, _

Look. It's nothing personal. It's just business.

When Basil and I took the job, we knew what we were getting ourselves into. And, by default, we knew that there was no way out, not without harming our family. We were paid handsomely for your deaths—especially you, Mayor Hyacinth. But no one misses any of you. No, not the Symthens, not all the Peacekeepers, not anyone.

There can be no witnesses, and that's why no one mourned for you. They couldn't mourn, for they were just as dead as you were.

Other inmates here like to ask me how I could kill children. One of the Symthens, Primrose, was only four-years-old. I didn't see her die. I just filled the house with gas and walked away. It's not like she screamed in pain and bled everywhere. She died peacefully in her sleep. It's likely that she never even knew she was dying.

And besides, these sorts of things have never bothered me. Doctors and therapists have agreed I'm not a sociopath; I just don't care when it comes to these things. That's why I was able to kill so easily. It bothers Basil more than it bothers me. But we do these things together; even though a pair of assassins have a harder trail to hide than someone going solo, we're a dynamic duo. I start, he finishes.

Our kills aren't messy. There's no blood. It's usually gas or poison. We slip some poison into someone's drink, and that night they die in their sleep. It's peaceful.

Peacekeeper kills are different, though. Peacekeepers aren't allowed to drink, so they avoid bars, which is the easiest place to poison someone's beer. They live in barracks, which means if we gas the building, everyone inside will die. Our employers don't want anarchy, and that's what would be caused if we killed hundreds of Peacekeepers at once. They're just looking out for their interests, and I've never been one to pry. Like I said; I just need the money. I know—or knew, as a child—many people who would faint if I told them what I did for a living.

But, like so many assassins before us, Basil and I were caught. It was late at night. We had just left a bar, after slipping a couple of upstanding, rich men some deadly poison. Just like always, we had disappeared into the shadows, where Basil and I live. Our nocturnal existence usually helped us, but we weren't lucky that day.

A Peacekeeper came up behind us and accused us of slipping something into those men's drinks. The next thing we knew, we were charged with attempted murder and sent to prison. Everything would have been fine, if not for a breakthrough in the Symthens' case that led to our indefinite incarceration.

Our employers were furious with our failure. We knew the consequences if we failed—and our employers always carried out their threats. They took our family, our dear little siblings that we had done all of this for, and they executed all of them.

Now? To those men? It's personal. That Peacekeeper condemned our family to death and Basil and I to prison. That's not business. That's personal.

_Basil Corlyn, 18, District 11_

_Dear the Fifteen People I Was Also Paid To Kill, _

I know Delilah has different views on this. I know I was given large sums of money for conformation of your demises. And I still can't say I regret much of it. But the fact that I ended some very, very young lives—that's the thing that's hard to swallow.

Like that little Symthen girl, Primrose. And her nine-year-old sister, Loretta. Both of them hardly got a shot at life because Delilah and I were too selfish to see what we were doing was wrong.

But it's not being selfish. We're not like our employers. We weren't looking out for ourselves; we were looking out for our family. Like Thorn, just two years old when he died. Sometimes, I wonder if he made friends with Primrose and Loretta in the land beyond the veil. But I then I remember that there's likely nothing after death. Apple, though, Apple and Primrose probably would have been great friends. They were the same age, after all.

It's like the last Hunger Games, just with four-year-olds instead. Was there anything Del and I could have done to stop it? No. We took the job. We sealed their fates. We killed Loretta and Primrose. We left Thorn and Apple to die because of our own negligence.

Delilah always starts the deed, and I always finish it. There's never blood or mess, we just have to hide our trail. It's not hard. Many people in 11 think assassins like us are just ghost stories. And sometimes I wonder if it's true. Maybe we are just ghosts, drifting around and pulling others across the divide with us, forcing them to join us beyond the curtain.

At least I have Delilah by my side. We got ourselves into this mess together, and now we have to reap the consequences. Before all of this, we were so happy. But once we made our first kill, I knew there was no going back. And I was right. But as soon as we got caught… that was when our never-ending torment was really set in stone.

**A/N: These two lovely assassins belong to AnnaBanana! What do you think of Delilah? Of Basil? Which do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer? **

**Random Question of the Day: Have you ever been to any Disney parks? If so, did you enjoy it?**

**My answer: way too many times. And yes, I love going to Disneyland/World (those are the only parks I've been to.)**

**-Amanda**


	8. District 2 - The Corpses of Negligence

**A/N: I'm back with another district to introduce! After this one, we've got four reapings to go. With any luck… June 15****th**** to be done with them and to the Capitol? **

**Anyways, Balustrade comes from karameiwaku and Braden comes from ClarissaFrost24. **

**Chapter 8 – The Corpses of Negligence**

_Balustrade Vernon, 41, District 2_

_To the Corpses of My Negligence,_

Here's a nice lesson for you all of you young ones out there: don't cut corners. You use cheaper materials in your construction projects, don't hire a large enough crew, bypass safety regulations just because you can… and the next thing you know you land yourself a cell in the District prison for seventy-six accounts of negligent manslaughter.

But just because my cheaper materials were less fire retardant isn't my fault… I was just trying to save money for the next project. It's like I wanted my entire life to come falling in just because of a silly little fire. All those people who died were poor, living in poverty. They'd probably thank me for ending their existence! And besides, it's not like I struck the match and lit the fire. All I did was allow the fire to spread.

Yes, I was negligent. Yes, technically, all those deaths are my fault. Yes, I have regrets. Yes, I have made mistakes. But no, I'm not going to beg for forgiveness. And no, it's not because I don't believe I deserve forgiveness. I certainly do deserve it, but I'm not going to sink to the ground and plead until I get what I want. Besides, I don't need forgiveness to be happy. At least, not from strangers.

I suppose the way my own children look at me like I'm a monster, ashamed to be the children of _the mass murderer_, destined to one day volunteer for their own demise, makes me want to turn back time. I was once on the same path, but I suppose I wasn't cut out to be hailed for murdering others. I was meant to rot in prisons while others took the glory. Perhaps one day, my children will win and bring Victory to the name, and the Vernons will no longer be known as the family with the mass-murdering daughter. We'll be remembered as the family with the newest Victor.

I could have taken that mantle, as could my sister, but I suppose we weren't meant for the Games. My sister was meant for Peacekeeping, and I was meant for prison, laying at the lowest I had ever been, even after I had been kicked out of the academy as a teenager. No, this is certainly my lowest, in prison for life, sentenced for the indirect murders of seventy-six people. I once rode high, rich from my projects and living off the praise of my customers, and now am I but a convict, destined to spend the rest of my life rotting away in prison as the world moves on around me. Will I ever know if my children die in the Games? Will I ever know if they claim Victory? Will I ever know if my husband grows tired of being the murderer's spouse and gets a divorce?

Because while yes, I have regrets, and those regrets occasionally drag me down, as it was my own negligence that landed me in this position, I will not beg for forgiveness. I deserve it as much as anybody, but that does not mean I will ever get it.

_Braden VonDrasek, 21, District 2_

_Dear Arrow VonDrasek, _

It's all my fault.

Arrow, I am so, so sorry. I would ask for forgiveness… but I don't deserve it. But you have to know that it wasn't me, it was the other Braden, the one who lurks in the shadows, spreading fear and ice everywhere he goes in my head until finally I can't hold him back anymore and he gets what he wants. You were so young, just fourteen-years-old, and you had your whole life ahead of you.

There was nothing I could have done. At least it was quick, at least by the time I reclaimed control you were already gone. There is no sense in drawing out the inevitable, and that's what your death was.

I never told anyone why it really happened. I said you startled me, which is true, and I panicked, throwing you against the wall, and your neck snapped with the impact. It wasn't entirely a lie. The other Braden took control, and when you came up behind me, he snapped your neck, just like it was nothing. It was over before you even knew it.

Of course, that didn't stop it from hurting. The other Braden laughed at me, cackling in my head so loud I thought my skull would burst, but I didn't care. Maybe death would have been kinder. Maybe death was what I deserved. Because forgiveness certainly isn't it.

No one knows the other Braden even exists. I think some people suspect that something is wrong with me—aside from the obvious—but I guess no one wants to ask. That would be a very weird conversation. 'Hey, do you have a voice in your head that occasionally overrides who you really are and murders your brother?' 'I do! How did you know?' 'I see you talking to yourself sometimes!' 'Ah, yes. Of course.' See, normal human interaction.

If Alexis hadn't volunteered, for the glory, for the stupidity of her own actions… I wouldn't have spiraled so far out of control. Our whole family fell apart after Alexis so stupidly abandoned us for a slight chance at fame and fortune, which she gave up to a boy from 11, who managed to pull a Victory… that was the first time the other Braden really ever talked to me. He had whispered to me before that, but that was the first time I ever truly took notice of his words.

And it only took five months for things to go so far off the deep end that you ended up dead in the ground and I trapped, not only in prison but in my own mind as well. But I don't want pity; and I don't deserve forgiveness. I deserve exactly what I got.

**A/N: And here are our tributes from District 2! I do believe the professional Balustrade has our highest (indirect) kill count to date. What's your opinion of her? Of Braden? Who do you like better? Who do you think will last longer? **

**I hope to have District 12 out in one-two days.**

**Random Question of the Day: is a hotdog a sandwich?**

**My answer: (once again the only right answer) No. I guess it could be an open-face sandwich, but it's definitely not a sandwich. **

**Until next time, **

**-Amanda**


	9. District 12 - The Ones From the Shadows

**A/N: Wow, we're getting close to finishing the Reapings. And wow, I still have no idea who dies and when. All I know if the final three (four?) who are my Victor Hopefuls. **

**Anyway, let's meet District 12. **

**Chapter 9 – The One From the Shadows**

_Jessica Cypress, 13, District 12_

_Dear Remus Black, _

It was a mistake. It was all a big, big mistake. I was starving, I was going to die if I didn't get food soon. It was my only chance to survive, and I wasn't ready to waste away on the streets like the other children I had met in my travels. I've always been a fighter, and I wasn't ready to give up. I don't give up, and I guess you learned that when I attacked.

You should have just let me have the food. Then you would still be alive. But… I can't say I really regret it. Yes, it's a regret that weighs down on my young consciousness, but at least life in prison is better than living each day like it might be my last as I scrounged on the streets. I have a bed—albeit an uncomfortable one—to sleep in, a roof over my head, and food in my stomach. I used to say your life was a small price to pay for my safety, but with time I've realized just how selfish that was.

I was never told if you had family. All I know if that your name was Remus Black, that you owned a shop in the merchants' part of town, and when I tried to steal food from you, you cornered me and I stabbed you until you no longer breathed. It was an act of desperation, I swear! If I hadn't been on the brink of starvation, if my mind hadn't been so muddled by the hunger that gnawed on my insides, maybe I wouldn't have attacked. Maybe we could have come to an agreement. But I _wasn't_ thinking straight, and thus, you were condemned to death.

I'm… I'm sorry.

All it did was solidify the view of the rest of 12 on me. I was—and still am—the savage girl who appeared out of nowhere, who has always just existed in the shadows until one day her delicate psyche snapped and she killed someone. It was only a matter of time, right? That's all that I am, isn't it? The crazy girl who occasionally talks to herself because she's just so, so lonely. The savage girl who wanders around the Seam in search of food, who hears the whispers when people think she can't.

"_She's not all there, is she?"_

"_What a savage little freak."_

"_Haven't you seen her talk to herself?"_

"_I've seen starving children on the streets. They always go to the community home. Why hasn't she?"_

That's an easy question to answer. To the Capitol, to the Peacekeepers, to everyone, I don't exist. Only once I was charged with murder and put under the name _Jessica Cypress_—I'm not quite sure what a cypress is but I told them my name was Jessica—did they acknowledge my existence. Only once I did something wrong did I get recognition.

If I hadn't killed you, Mr. Black, I'd still be the savage girl who talks to herself as she wanders aimlessly, wondering where she came from and why she still has to exist.

_Samuel Euphrates, 17, District 12_

_To the Son of a Merchant, _

You should know not to wander around 12 late at night with warm, steaming, beautiful, savory food on you. It was only a matter of time before it happened—before I happened. I just needed food, I was starving to death, and you were _right there_. Practically begging to be attacked!

I never meant to actually _kill_ you, though. I just meant to knock you out so I could the bread and leave, and you'd never know what happened. But it didn't work out in my favor—but then again, nothing ever does. I didn't even have a knife, I just had a rock, I didn't mean to bash your skull in. Everything should have been fine. I should have gotten away, gotten to eat my well-deserved bread, but the Peacekeepers descended upon me before I even got one nibble.

They whipped me within an inch of my life that night, no convicting needed or anything. After all, they saw me—I was stupid. After that, I vowed to never again make such a careless mistake. I should have waited until you got further away from the Peacekeepers and I could have found a better place to attack. But you don't have to worry; I won't make that mistake again.

All of that, all that pain and suffering and screams of agony meant nothing in the long run. I still ended up in prison, I still ended up with terrible scars on my shredded back, I still never got any of that bread. It wasn't worth it. All the trouble I went through for those stupid loaves of bread and I never even got the payout! It was a completely waste of my life, of my ability and of my chance at anything!

I'm not sorry.

I don't feel guilt about it. I just feel regret. Not that you, yourself is dead. Just the fact that everything I got for it wasn't worth it. No, I hardly got anything for it. Just a million scars, PTSD and a life sentence in prison. I was starving, I would have died soon if I hadn't attacked you. I wasn't—and still, I'm not—ready to give up. I don't give up, not for anything.

All I wanted was some food. No, scratch that—all I wanted was to live.

But since when have I ever gotten what I want? Ah, that's right. Never.

**A/N: And there they are, Samuel and Jessica! What do you think of Samuel? Of Jessica? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer? **

**Only four more Reapings to go, and then we hop on the train rides to nowhere! Anyone looking forward to the Capitol—and, you know, the Games? **

**District 9 should be out in a day, maybe two. **

**Random Question of the Day: Do you have a favorite tribute that you've ever created?**

**My answer: I mean, I have a few favorites. Most of them never got written. One of my favorite unwritten ones is Kalypso Rackbacker. I do think my favorite one I've ever created that was actually written is Athena Fallow. I just love her so much. **

**-Amanda **


	10. District 8 - Held Accountable

**Chapter 10 – Held Accountable**

**TW FOR RAPE IN XIARA'S POV. **

_Xiara Hudson, 24, District 8_

_To Max Hudson and Five Peacekeepers Who Don't Deserve to be Named,_

If you think I'm going to apologize, you've got another thing coming.

You don't deserve an apology. Hell, you don't even deserve death. You deserve to suffer in prison like I have, every day, because you sold an innocent, young, naïve girl to the Capitol to become a sex slave. She was _eight fucking years old_. But your greedy ass, Father, just had to have your money.

Some people say that death is the worst punishment there is. I don't agree. Death is too lenient, for people like you. You can say I was the one who took the knife and ended your lives, and that now I must reap the consequences, that I deserve death, but all I did was try to save my sister. Eliza was my entire world. She was everything to me, and you tried to take her away. I did what I had to do.

I often wonder, during long nights in my cell, what would have happened if I had ducked left instead of right. Would I be dead? Would a bullet have entered my brain and my murderer never be convicted, because he did what he was supposed to do? If I had died, he probably would have been commended for his service to the Capitol.

Both Eliza and I were just children. Eliza was eight, I was seventeen. Everything _should_ have been fine—'should' being the operative word. I had been out at work, and when I returned from the factories, I discovered my father, passed out on the couch with a paper in his hand. He sold my sister. For alcohol money. Fucking alcohol money.

I was an angry—who wouldn't be, in my situation? I did the only thing I could think of. I went into the kitchen and got a pair of scissors. Without even second thought I killed you, Father.

Eliza was in a truck with a couple of other little girls. I was going to save her—and the other girls, if I was able. But no matter how hard I tried, she was stuck.

That was when a bullet came whizzing out a Peacekeeper's gun, narrowly missing splattering my brains upon the young prostitutes in the truck. But what did happen was even worse.

The bullet grazed the side of my head, and as I turned around, it tore my left eye from my head, leaving me screaming in agony. But there's something you should know about me; I don't give up easy. I'm sure all you nice corpses out there know that.

I don't know where I got the gun from. All I know is that I used it, to end the other five lives that put me behind bars. But you, kind corpses, know that already.

I never have and never will view what I did as wrong. Selling a child for a couple thousand caps so the disgusting Cappies can make her suffer, every. Single. Solitary. Day.

You fucking disgust me.

_Hodrem Farnakle, 37, District 8_

_Dear Argyle, Paisley and Levi Smith, _

I just drank too much. It was an accident. I wasn't even supposed to have the car, hell, I wasn't even supposed to drive. I had lost my license years before, but does anyone think straight when they're hammered? No.

I promise I didn't mean to. I didn't even know who you were! You were just… faces in the crowd! Well, now you're just corpses, but… you know what I mean.

Some people think I should feel guilty. But I suppose I don't. They tell me that some of you, Paisley and Levi, were just children. I say you're just dead.

That always seems to surprise them. I'm not quite sure why.

It's true, isn't it? You're not children. You're not people. You're corpses, buried in the ground with no cognitive thought. Why do people always get so worked about death? It's not anything to be sad about. Death isn't scary. Death isn't bad. Death isn't anything. It's just another fact of life. Eventually everyone reaches the end and dies, whether they're seven or seventy.

Should I feel guilty? I don't… I don't think I should. I just had a few too many drinks and got in a car. Drunk people don't think straight, okay? That's because they're _drunk_. I was no different, and I believe I should be treated as such. It wasn't even my fault that I drank so much. It was all because of a couple of other guys at the bar who convinced me to drink.

People think I should be held accountable for my actions, drunk or not. I wish I could find it in my heart to agree, but let's face it.

I stopped listening to my heart years ago.

**A/N: this chapter took way too long to write. I was originally going to do District 9 instead of 8, but I faced nasty writer's block for **_**two weeks**_**. Yeah, so my goal of being done with these by June 15****th**** went out the window. **

**Throwback to the District 10 reaping from TYAU. My cat Fred kept wandering back and forth across my keyboard as I was writing this so I sincerely hope that I didn't miss any random semi-colons or something. **

**So, what do you think of Xiara? Of Hodrem? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer?**

**Random Question of the Day: out of all the tributes introduced so far, who is your favorite?**

**My answer: not going to answer this one. **

**-Amanda**


	11. District 1 - Husks of Human Beings

**Chapter 11 – Husks of Human Beings**

_Casino Clearwater, 23, District 1_

_To Those Seven Disgusting Men,_

I've been told before that I'm crazy. And maybe I am. But being crazy doesn't change anything. Being crazy doesn't change that I'm right. Being crazy doesn't change what you did. So go ahead. Say that I'm crazy. See if I care. See if it changes anything. See if you suddenly rise from the grave and go back to doing what you did best: taking advantage of young girls who just needed a place to sleep, or maybe some money, or food.

I could have gotten away with everything I did (which was right, and you know it. I shouldn't be in prison for it. I never did anything wrong. It was _you_ who did wrong, and they punished _me_ for doing what was right) if I hadn't gotten so careless. If I hadn't preyed on you, Topaz Hart, I would still be out there, doing what no one else has the courage to do.

A fellow inmate recently asked me how I can condone murder, no matter who it is that I killed. I asked them how they could condone stealing, no matter who it is that they stole from. But I do know how I can condone these sort of things: _I did nothing wrong_. It doesn't matter that I'm in prison now. If I hadn't killed any of you, you would still be out there. You would never be put in prison for it.

That same inmate (who won't just _leave me the fuck alone_) came by again on another day to pry at my edges some more. There are always more questions for her to ask, but at least I have the comfort on knowing she will be let out in a few years, even though I will be here for the rest of my life.

_Tell me, Casino. How can you be this way? Why don't you regret it? You didn't need to kill any of those men! They didn't do anything wrong! _

That is the assumption that most people make, I just killed them for _fun_. Yes, I'll admit, I am an adrenaline junkie. I love the rush I get. But at least I wasn't just killing people off the side of the street. No, of course I have my reasons. There are people in here who kill because they can. While I kill because I enjoy the rush, I only kill those who have done wrong before.

I would speak to girls who were in need, girls who made bed with older men just to stay alive, and I would enact revenge on their behalf. Seven men I found, more than twice the amount of girls, girls who had nothing left, girls who were reduced to prostituting themselves just to have a place to sleep or food to eat.

Seven men I killed, for those girls who were degraded to nothing but prostitutes, all because they didn't want to die. Seven men, seven vile, disgusting men, but did I get any thanks for it? No, of course not. I just got thrown in prison, where I'll surely rot until the end of time.

_Oh, Casino_, everyone likes to say. _It doesn't matter why or who you killed! You still took human life! _

Please. Those men can hardly even be called humans. They deserved everything they got, and I happened to be the only one with enough courage to act upon it.

_Michael Butcher, 26, District 1_

_To the seventeen people I killed, _

First things first: everyone makes mistakes. No, I'm not talking about myself. I made mistakes, sure, but nothing very big. Nothing quite as world-ending as the mistakes Adria made. Volunteering for the Hunger Games is, really, quite the risky move, and no matter how mad it made me, I still loved her!

I've been told, time and time again, that I'm completely crazy. I'm not quite sure what they're talking about when they say that. I'd say my reaction to the premature death of my beloved girlfriend was completely justified. So what if I killed fifteen people—apparently including six small children, but whatever—why should it matter? It's not like they're real people anyway…no one is real, except me, at least…

Even Adria wasn't real, I don't think. That doesn't mean her death hurt any less.

My parents weren't real either, but they sure did hit like they were. They just had solid forms, like most people, but were really just shells of human beings, and I am all alone in this world, surrounded by husks of peoples, all of which hate me for taking faux-life…

I don't really remember the day I snapped.

It was…maybe eight years ago? Yeah, around eight years ago. Because if I'm twenty-six now and…yeah, eight years ago. Adria, oh my beloved Adria, volunteered for the Games…she told me it would help us, once she came home as a Victor…but then that girl from 10 came out of nowhere, bludgeoning my beloved in the head so many times that she became unrecognizable…I had already been covered in my parents blood so I thought…why not add a little more? All these happy husks, these robotic imitations of actual humans, had never experienced heartbreak like I was feeling…and so I decided to show them what it felt like.

Killing felt much better than I thought it would. It was cleansing, refreshing, to know that I was responsible for so much heartache and pain. I had experienced so much of that, so it couldn't have hurt to pass it on to someone else…

I've been told that it was a huge tragedy. So many young lives, lost so quickly…but they never say anything about poor, beloved, beautiful, smart, wonderful, lovely Adria…she's dead too…but because it is the Games, killing is condoned…even rewarded. But here in 1? I'm punished for doing exactly what that monster from 10 was doing…

I still just don't get why it matters so much. It's not like those shells were doing much anyway. They barely even existed in the first place. They were just begging me to kill them! And I had already taken the lives of my parents…who didn't deserve to live in the first place, not after everything they had done to me…so it didn't really matter if I killed a couple more, small child or not…

I just don't get why it's so wrong. Maybe I'll never understand. Maybe one day, I'll find a place that isn't filled with lifeless shells of people, and then I'll be okay. They can't blame me for killing the useless husks! Surely they've done the same thing.

They will understand. Real, human people will understand why I did it. Husks are useless, but real people probably aren't. I don't think I know, since I've never met someone real…even though Adria felt pretty real, especially when she kissed me.

But Adria wasn't real. No one is real, except for me. One day, I'll escape from this fake hellhole and find the _real_ people. Maybe Adria will be there.

**A/N: What a surprise. I actually updated this again. I've been putting off writing this for ages, and focusing more on DAH which I'm more excited for. Still, I refuse to abandon and/or summarize this, even though I do have a pretty good idea of the current placements (and the Victor). **

**What do you think of Casino? Of Michael? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: what is your least favorite book/book series you've ever read?**

**My answer: I read the Matched series in sixth grade, and it was really boring, as well as a very average dystopian book. My friend was reading it at the same time, and since I finished the last book before she did, she just asked me to tell her what happened and then she never picked up the book again. **

**I don't know if I'll do 5 or 9 next. I guess it just depends on my mood. **

**-Amanda**


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